


Bitter

by fictionalthoughts



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Mandalorian/Reader - Freeform, Mando/Reader - Freeform, Porn with Feelings, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:27:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21689839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalthoughts/pseuds/fictionalthoughts
Summary: They’re trying to forget the past, but why does he keep coming back?*this fic can also be found on my tumblr @fictional-thoughts
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 177





	Bitter

He’s standing outside her door, feeling a thousand feet away but it’s only a lock and a few inches of wood separating him from you. His gloved fingers tap nervously on the hilt of his long weapon, under the helmet he’s chewing his bottom lip, colouring it red, contemplating, thinking, smoothing over the idea in his mind.

He can’t see her now.

He’s a mess, still pumped on adrenaline from returning from his last job, it ended brutally, all he remembers is blood running down the street in thick streams, cracked open skulls and the dim echos of screaming. His eyes close, dark lashes kiss his cheeks and he’s erasing the memories from his mind, only wishing he didn’t have to knock on that damn door, pass over the threshold and finally be rid of recollection.

Surely she’d answer. She always did.

What is holding him back? His own guilt of betrayal? His errors of the past haunt him, soak deep into his skin he nearly finds himself turning away from you when he needs her most. That’s it. The Mandalorian is chewing on the idea that he does need her, it feels sharp on his lips, its thick and sickly sweet, a poisoned wine he’s desperate to try and accept. The thought of her is held high over his head, a knife of vulnerability threatening to drop over his skin, slide and peel back the foundations of his history. He’s alone in the galaxy, a hunter, a killer, torn from all things the world says people need in order to survive.

She’s not that.

She’s everything he knows he would want to be.

And he needs her. Maybe not forever, but not another moment should go by without him near her.

The Mandalorian sighs deeply and lifts his fist to tap on her door, number 017. He’s been there so many times the number greets him with familiarity. He’s rolling his sore neck, the helmet tilted and he’s staring at the ugly brown ceiling as short steps approach the door, its creaking open and his heart is starting to beat faster, trapped under the confines of his ribs it’s threatening to escape.

The world calms and she’s in front of him, dressed down in casual clothing she’s barefoot and her hair is let down. It’s warm light and the smell of home, wrapped in her curiosity filled eyes he’s finding no words to speak. It’s been so long.

“Mando,” she’s whispering softly but no one is around to hear the gentle way she’s saying his nickname she claimed as her own. Her arms cross, there’s a chill in the hallway and he sees her shiver. Her eyes scan him over, searching for a wound or ailment. The Mandalorian is okay, he’s safe and she’s been worried over nothing. His armour clinks as he shifts his boots on the hard ground. “Come in,”

She’s stepping back and offering him room to pass over the threshold, his aura of power and destruction follows the soldier into the room. Her eyes are on the guns and the knife concealed on his lace up boot. He’s still the same. The door closed behind him and he’s alien to her homely flat, plants and books stacked everywhere he’s picking small details about her place he doesn’t remember from the last visit. It’s all her own personality turned into a place where even he feels welcome.

“Thank you for seeing me,” he thumbs a green plants soft petals and stares down at the short bit of life in the pot. He feels her eyes on him, soft and bright they’re unwavering and he feels the pressure to gaze back, to look across the room as if she’s stars away.

“I’d never turn you away,” her arms are still crossed over her chest, she’s freezing. The Mandalorian sighs, he’s brought icy winds with him and the frigid night air. He turns and sees just how little she’s really wearing.

She can’t tell but through the visor he’s gazing into her eyes, searching for a clue of what she’s going to say next. He’s never been able to read her. “Did I wake you?”

He nearly takes up the bulk of the small flat with his broadness and layers of armour but you don’t mind. He’s here and she’s unsure of what to say, her eyes downward she draws an invisible pattern on the wooden floor with her bare foot. “I’d just fallen asleep,” she’s lying but how could she tell him she lies awake most nights and pray he’ll show up at the door? Not injured or broken but whole and wanting for her company; though she wouldn’t mind him to be broken, bruised and in need of her help. That’s never happened and she knows the Mandalorian suffers alone.

“I can leave if you wish.” He turns with a step towards her and he’s looking down, her body so small compared to his, she’s beautiful in the semi darkness, it reminds him of sunsets on the horizons and lunar eclipses, of dying stars that shine so brightly in the last living moments — things he never thought to take notice of before he met her. “I shouldn’t have come.”

Regret seeps through the particles of air all around them, sucking the space and drowning out the noise of the world. He’s slowly breaking as she looks up, hurt in her eyes. The Mandalorian sighs, he didn’t mean that. He rarely speaks the truth and it’s hard even with her. The bounty hunter is skilled in many things but expressing the art of softer emotions was never on the list.

They’re close and she’s thinking of what to say, her mind a cage of birds. She should be bitter, angry and cold towards him, blocks of icy bricks and unbreakable walls made of iron. But she’s soft and can’t bring herself to hurt him more than he’s hurt himself in the past. “Stay,”

She’s staring at the visor, where she knows his eyes are, she can feel the deeper eye contact, sense his dark eyes connected with her own, each afraid to break the gaze she’s feeling her breath pick up. She’s missed him.

A glimmer of hope sparks and the Mandalorian is releasing a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. “Thank you.” The helmet manipulates his tone and he’s sure his words sound heartless to her, of forgotten promises and crumbled love letters, spilled ink and empty words. He cannot give into that again, he’s a Mandalorian, a fighter, unbreakable and strong. It’s a tangle of his history and oath, his chosen path of culture and personal dependence, welded to his life, he’s stuck in time.

“Why are you here, Mando?” She’s pulling at the strings of bitterness, her gentleness has morphed into hints of resentment blended into her question. She’s close to him and yet so alone.

He’s not looking at her but removing his weapons from his form, the weight they carry is pulling him down, the very objects behind his life, his only possessions besides the ship he flies through the stars from planet to planet. He wishes he had more, but of what? What could a wandering hunter possess? The long rifles set down, its base thumped on the ground and the length is leaned against a dark bookcase and his blaster goes next to it. The knife is set down on the shelf with a careful hand. There’s more but they can come off later. “I’m here for you.” His gravelly tone is curling around her ears like a thousand deadly drums, beating out in time to the time of her breathing. He’s sincere and getting closer to her. “I want —”

She’s soft but not stupid. “You want to forget.” Shaking her head she’s a little hurt, a little on the edge of a steep cliff but it’s all foggy, unknown and he’s so close is suffocating. 

He’s pausing and the grips on his heart fade away. She knows him so well and it’s slowly tearing him apart, you’ve always been there to become a beacon and block the echos of his past. He thinks back to a time where he was caught after a battle, war torn and crushed he arrived at her door, tearing from him his battle gear and allowing her to blindly feel his scars, map this history of his body, he devoured every breath she took, sunk into her warmth he never wanted to leave. She’s never turned the Mandalorien away.

“You’re right.” He can’t lie, not yet.

She’s unfocused, her lip drawn under her teeth, bitten to a soft red, swollen under pressure. The thumping of her heart in her chest is loud enough for it to echo in her mind, she’s pulled in different directions, to remember the bitter past or take soul advantage of the present before her. She’s torn, spread so thin. He looks the same, and you can only really wonder who he was under the mask, though a little bulkier and clad in new armour he is still the Mandalorian, he is still yours. It’s all a mess but didn’t they used to thrive on the chaos? Get off to the secret, the whispered words and hidden touches. They were so young and blind and bonded together, it felt like ages ago. “Its just been so long,”

She’s missed him.

He’s stepping closer and sees just how small she is, compared to him. Metal to silk, ash to spring like winds she’s all the light in the world and he can only be her match. Their words built on an equal balance of light and dark, of shifting tides and uncertain times but in the end, one shall always meet their match. He’s exhaling shakily and he’s never one for words but he wishes to tell you everything, his sins, his purging of the innocent and its only a job but its not. It’s wearing him down to slide back into his bunk every night with his thoughts on you and what you once were, to him. Please, he’s thinking, its burning and rocking inside him and why cant he just tell you what he wants.

“Mando…” she’s looking down at his hands, his right curled over her own wrist, thumb rubbing circles.

The glove is worn and soft, leathery and not what she wants. He is silent and she’s tugging the gloves from his hands and tossing them to the floor. His tanned hands are bruised and split knuckles, trophies of his winnings.

“I don’t want to relive the past.” He tells her, tone neutral and softer, only for her. He cant think back to the times they’ve hurt one another, times when the moments never ended and they knew it would be alright in the end. But things like that never last. “I just need -”

“Me,” she’s completing his sentences and he’s alive with hope, waves of curling heat are smoothing his skin. And he tries not to go fast but he’s got her pulled into his arms and she’s so smooth and soft in his hands he’s nearly saying her name in prayer. Her backs arched to him and she’s got wonder in her eyes, he feels her hand slide over and up his shoulder and he’s suppressing the shivers that run through him, lit from a fuse thats connected only to her. “I can’t promise things will be the same,” she’s whispering through him, her hand on his cool helmet, just where his cheekbone would be and the Mandalorian is leaning into her touch. At her words his hands spread and squeeze her waist.

“I don’t want it to be the same,”

She’s being backed up, slowly and careful steps and she’s pressed into the wall. “We can make it better.” She knows the Mandalorian, she’s been his home, his secret for years and it cant ever be the same. She knows all he wants is to burry within her and forget the sounds of bombs, the taste of blood and rustic metal and smoke. “Mando,” she says his name and he’s already helping her from her clothes.

Gods, he’s feeling chunks of himself melting and falling to your feet, his girl, tender and lovingly she’s a mess of bittersweet romance and the feeling of flowers that you can only touch but not pick from the garden it’s planted. Is that all she is to him? A beauty to only observe and continue on the journey? “Mando, wait,” she’s gasping softly and he can barely stop, his hands splayed over her ribcage, the bumps of her bones under taunt skin he’s waiting for her to continue, her voice sending sparks to alight within him. He’s got his hand cupped around her jaw and the other sliding downwards to span her thigh, he’s going to lift her to the wall and push himself onto her. “Mando,” and he stops, leaned back he’s watching her to make sure she’s okay. “The blindfold, its, its in my room,” she’s flushed and stumbling on her words and he’s only wondering how such a beautiful thing could be in his grasp.

The Mandalorian shakes his head lightly. “Not yet.” His armours being untied by your careful hands and he’s silent, watching her work, cheeks flushed and eyes shining. Hotness seeps into his stomach, it’s craving and desperate. Bit by bit she’s pulled the metallic layers away, stripped him of his defence, he’s just as bare as you, with thin clothing thats close to the skin, close enough to feel the radiating heat. “Can I trust you?”

She’s mustering a soft smile and nodding, “’course, Mando.” 

“Close your eyes,” his voice is rough and tender, sandpaper and featherlight and seeping into her skin: she obeys, letting her eyes slide closed she’s surrounded by darkness and the gentle click and hiss of air as the Mandalorian is removing his helmet. He lets it drop to the floor and she jumps at the noise but he’s already pulled her close, he finds her lips and its a clash of rough remembrance, of slick and stolen moans he’s kissing her so hard she might just shatter in his arms. He feels himself weaken as she’s winding her arms around his neck, fingers swirled in the tendrils of his hair she’s so perfect and he just wants her now. It’s growing faster and more desperate, he’s got his hand curved around your jaw and his tongues flicking in between her lips and she’s a whimpering mess of sweetly melted emotions.

She’s got her eyes squeezed shut and her heads thrown back as the Mandalorian is moved down to the curve of her neck, he’s lined her throat with slicked kisses, his hands slide over her breasts and she’s moaning softly. His attention to detail is immaculate and he’s got her whimpering in moments with the curve of his hands on her tits and lips on her throat, he’s greedy and she tastes so sweet. He’s breathing is picking up and the sounds catch on a gasp as her hands trail down his chest. “Please,” she’s blind to him, her eyes never opening but picking up on every slight movement he’s making against her pressed to the cold wall. Use me.

Without warning his mouth leaves her own and he’s got her turned, front to the wall and his own pressed to her back, his large hands curved over her ass he’s groaning at the feeling, his lips on her shoulder and neck the Mandalorian is living for the soft sounds she’s making, without the helmet obscuring his vision its all the more real and he’s watching her hands close into fists as he’s pulling at the lobe of her ear with his teeth. He gets an idea. “Wait here.” And he’s gone. 

She’s already slick and her stomach is tense, she’s resting her forehead to the wall as the Mandalorian is turning down all the lights, she hears him blow out a candle on the desk and she realizes he doesn’t want the blindfold, he wants it to be raw, unconfined and free. His steady and slow steps are closer and soon she’s whirled around, crashed into his chest. Its dark in the room, in contrast to the stars above the room could be dark as night.

Its soon a mess of stripped clothing and her nails are carving marks into his naked broad back, skipping over the flexing muscles she’s got her head thrown back as his mouth covers her breast, its the art of passion drawn with sound and the unspoken rule to give in to one other and forget everything else, from one broken soul to another.

She’s bare and exposed to his hands, rough and tugging he’s got her so ready for him she’s feeling weak. “Bedroom,” she pants, he grunts softly in response, his hand slipping between her thighs he’s pulling aside her underclothes and she gasps, his fingers gather her slick and curl up into her its sending shocks through her system.

In the darkness he’s so close to her, too far gone to tell her how good she is, how he’s barely holding it together, he wants them to fall to the ground, lay her down to explore every inch of what she has to offer, he’s going mad with the feel of her quivering with only his fingers inside her and his teeth on her neck and god she’s so wet and he can tell she’s needed this. Needed him. 

“Gods, Mando,” she has a grip on his shoulder and the other moves to graze over him and its sending him into a shock. He’s in denial of the feelings she’s giving him, and soon its all too much and his fingers leave her warm cunt and he’s tasting them on his tongue.

She’s growing more frantic with every second as she leads him to her bedroom, sliding her hand along the smooth wall she finds the door and the Mandalorians quick to push her to the bed. She’s pulling his bottom lip in her teeth, her hands knitted in his thick hair, thigh curved around his waist, hes so close and so hard against her through the restricting fabric. He’s groaning softly as her hands move downward, it’s been so long and Mando quietly gasps against her swollen lips. She’s realizing that she’s using him too, to forget the pains of the past, of forlorn moments and bitter goodbyes.

She’s under him on the bed, curved to his body in the eerie darkness. It’s just like old times except he’s different, he’s more quiet and controlled, rough on the edges and confident. He’s dragging her underclothes down and sinking past her thighs, forehead leaned onto her stomach the Mandalorian takes a moment, eyes closed, breathing in her sickly sweet scent that’s all her before he’s burrowing his head in between her legs it’s a mess of his lips on her soaked cunt, he’s fast and his fingertips dig into her hips, spanned over the ridges of her hipbones; his mouth is on her sweet slick and not stopping until she’s close.

She cries out, whimpering his name and her hands fly to his head, her thighs ache, they close around his head and the warmth of his tongue sliding across the softness of her core is pulling her closer and closer to the edge, controlling her form.

Then he’s gone, pushing her thigh off his broad shoulder his tongue is replaced with two fingers, curved deep inside her — hot and tight around him, she’s got a grip on the while sheets under her and he’s swallowing her moans, lips against hers it’s fast and messy, she’s gasping into his mouth, her hands taking advantage of the removed helmet she’s mapping out what he looks like through the darkness, his hairs thick and turned with soft curls, she feels the contours of his jaw and cheekbones under her fingertips, raised lines of scars and indents of a once broken nose — he’s beautifully tragic, compiled of her imagination he’s everything that and more.

He’s beckoning, sliding his fingers into her she’s panting wetly against his skin, it’s so dark she can only see the outline of his body over hers, blocking out the light she’s picking up on the small details, the scars on his shoulders, of bullets and knives, stitched by his own hand? She’s feeling lower and he’s packed on muscle and bulk until she’s sure he could crush her if he so pleased — not that she would complain.

The Mandalorians never been so exposed, he thinks his oath is broken, his ties to his own religion snipped away. But as the light panels over her, he’s easing his fingers from her cunt, they’re slippery with her slick and it’s carving out his innocence of pleasure and shaping him into a place wretched and sinful. He’s looking down at her, beautiful, gentle, and the Mandalorian wants to ruin it. He’s raising his hand, sliding over her chest, past her pretty neck and slips his two digits past her parted lips. She moans at the sharp taste of herself, tongue curled around him she’s sucking hard and he’s nearly done for. His head lowers to her tits and teeth close around her nipple, pulling, tugging he’s buried in the softness of her skin. His lips span over the arches of her breasts, stopping to kiss her sternum, the valley in between.

She’s biting down on the tip of his pointer finger, smiling through a moan as he looks up at her, wonder and adoration swirled through the darkness. “What do you want?” He’s recalling their past, her favoured touches, sweet spots — he can’t think of just one, to bring her to the edge, to hold her down and have him engulfed within her, his hands moulding her flesh, dragging his teeth over her throat, catching her soft cries and matching her with his own.

His fingers slip from her lips and he’s gripping her jaw, shifting above her he’s pressed so tightly it’s hard for her to breath but it’s so worth it. Use me, she wants to plead, to have him grip her tightly, take everything he has out on her, break through the barriers of bitterness, soothe her wounds. The catch, there’s always one, the catch is: will he leave again? Vanish without a word, escaped into the night, never to see her again?

It’s happened one to many times. She should hate him for it, slam her door in his stupid fucking helmet face, one she’s never seen underneath and banish him from her life. But, in the months past, the Mandalorian just feels too good between her thighs, his hand around her throat or gripped in her hair, guiding her head down on his hard cock — he’s ever so tempting, a rush of adrenaline, he’s a drug in her veins, and she’s not broken her addiction.

“You,” she bites her lip, “just you.”

He’s kissing her, feels his tongue slip against hers it’s hot and heavy, messy and wet and bruising. Hands pulling at the ties of his pants they’re undone and she’s jerking beneath him, a wave of flushed arousal, unfurling and powerful she’s welded to him, darkness to light, magnetic force, of blinding stars and broken planets. “You’re so good,” he’s growling into her skin, pushing her thighs upwards he’s sliding against her, teasing, held back. He can’t, it’s the pounding of the air around him, the world blinks out and all he has is her, her body, crashed to the planets, exiled down from the gods she’s surely an angle, dammed to give herself to him, and he in turn, gives everything to her.

But he just can’t.

She’s surrounded by soft sheets, her beds worn and warm — how is she so soft? “You’re,” he’s groaning, pushing himself against her, large hand curled around her jaw she’s whimpering, chewing on begs, his name mixed within the words. “You—” he’s inhaling shakily, his nose follows up the line of her throat, behind her ear she’s covered in goosebumps and he’s sucking and biting her skin. “You’re mine.” He’s trying to convince himself of that, she’ll never be anyone’s; she’s her own. He’s never allowed himself to pin her down, fuck her and call her his to keep.

She’s nobodies. All her own.

But in between the moments of shattering lust and forgotten anger of abandonment, she could be his. The Mandalorian is the only one who’s cared, given a fuck — but it’s never been enough. She’s not accepting his words, she’s not his. “Shut up,” she’s turned her head away and his lips follow, sliding from her jaw to her own swollen and pink parted lips, his body heavy on hers she’s alive with desperate longing.

She’s pushing at his shoulders, roughly pulling herself from under him and before he’s complaining she’s shoved him back to the bed, he’s staring at her form through the darkness. She’s changed. It’s rough and she’s climbing into his lap, he groans as her soaked cunt slides over him and she’s surprising him with her nails dragging down his chest, skimming over the hard ridges of muscles.

It’s a game, teasing and seductive she’s on top of him, her lips on his throat as his large hands take handfuls of her ass.

She’s wretched, complied of what the stars wish they had she’s furious, kissing down his throat, she’s trailed hot spots down his chest, her warm breath fanning over him, his taunt muscles tighten and she hums in approval, her delicate hand trails over his rigit abdomen, bending down she’s licking a trail up and closing her lips around the collom of his throat.

“Gods Mando,” she’s an absolute angel, cursed to the darkness and awoken sin she’s grinding her hips down over his. It was never his, she’s claimed him and as she’s twisting her wrist, fingers slicked and wrapped around his cock he’s realizing it’s always been her.

Mando relaxes into the bed, his muscles strain and all he wants to do is sit up and jerk her up to straddle him properly, he’s groping her ass and it’s all he can do but not lift her, pull her close and sink her soaked cunt around him, a battle between logic and fantasy — he’s getting harder thinking about her, fucking up into her, hand wrapped around her throat, pursing the chase. She’s so good.

Lets not relive the past she said. It can be different. I can make it better.

All this? To be his beacon of light, a glimmer of hope in this bitter and isolated life he’s chosen? She’s whispering praise into the Mandalorians ear, her guts rolling with arosual and he’s not even inside her yet. He’s achingly hard, it’s closing in around him, how quickly everything would be over after he’s fucked her one last time. He shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have knocked on her door. It’s going to be over and he’ll have to leave again.

He’s swearing, his voice deep and guttural she’s grinding down so hard the thoughts are slipping from his sober mind, he’s drunk on her skin, stuck in a daze of boiling emotions, tucked just a little too far away to reach.

The Mandalorian is getting frustrated, he’s preparing to slide his hands around her and throw her under him, have her whithering and saying his name like it’s the only thing she knows. “Wanna, wanna fuck you,” the words come out harsh, clipped with the moments of blinding pleasure, he’s so close and she’s only grinding faster, pushing her anger into him. “C’mon—”

She suddenly stops, gasping she fills her lungs with air. Both her hands cupping his face, it’s suddenly gentle — intimate — and the moonlight seems to be inline with the art of the lovers, a sliver of the dim and glowy light is passing by the window, it pans across the floor and the Mandalorian can finally see her, her eyes have softened and they’re almost nose to nose, her finger strokes down his cheekbone and he’s realizing she can see a part of him.

They’re sharing the light and their breathings in tune with one another. Her lingering eyes drop to his lips and she’s soft, a silken cloud, kissing him so softly, it’s not rushed, it’s stopping the planets circles around the moon, and suddenly time doesn’t exist.

She’s melted down, her anger and bitterness cooled to a point of gentle adoration, her lips fit with his, he’s made for her, made for her to care for him.

Surges of softer emotions swell inside her chest, it’s brimming and she feels her throat tighten. She can’t cry. But it’s all too much and the memories coming back, of waking up with the Mandalorian vanished from her bed, no sign he’d ever been there aside from her wrinkled sheets and marks of his passion etched into her skin — but even those fade over time.

Her breath catches and the Mandalorians pulling her close, curling her in his arms, brushing slim fingers over her blushing cheeks, he’s searching her face, gazing up at her and they both know the unspoken words.

“Mando,” she’s whispering, letting him shift her, settling her over him properly, skin to skin they’re the only two lovers in that moment. “Please,” don’t leave again.

The Mandalorians silent, spreading his hands over her hips she’s helping him move her upwards, lined up she’s got her hands braced on his broad shoulders. They both utter soft groans, she’s sliding down around his length and she’s shivering, her back arching, pressing her chest to his as he’s sitting up, curved his arms around her waist the Mandalorians done for. She’s panting, swollen lips glossed over and parted, she’s a mess of sweat slicked skin and burned and blackened passion. She’d scratched down his chest, raising thin red lines under her nails, she’s tearing him apart, devouring all what’s given to her, only in the fear if she doesn’t this will be the last time.

Everything’s okay, she cannot physically get any closer to him, flesh to whatever he’s made of, of metal and the war. He’s got his hand on the back of her head, chin tucked into her shoulder she’s seeping into his form, her fight gone — vanished, forgotten once more as the tides change, they’re gentle to each other. She’s moving over him, fists clenched he’s filled her perfectly, it’s a balance of their moments, of his hands lifting her again so she’s pressed to the bed, her back once more against the smooth sheets. He’s inside her again, his hand pulling her thigh up — smooth, fluid. She sighs softly, at each strokes he’s pulling her release closer, to feel the warm waves crash and battle within her.

The lovers are quiet within one another, her body curved to his its not a mess anymore, things have fallen into place and she’s so so so close, her hands tug at his hair and he’s kissing her neck, holding back from having his own way with her, keeping the rush at bay. She’s pleading his name, lip caught under her teeth she’s suddenly gasping, tense and quivering beneath him.

She’s got her eyes screwed shut, “don’t stop, don’t stop,” it’s a winding and beautiful build up, hotness pools into her core, thick and spreading through her nerves she’s trying to stay still, but he’s chasing the fleeting moments with rough movements, his hands on her skin, lips at her ear he’s so close it’s nearly unbearable.

“Come for me,” his gravely voice sends vibrations through her and she falls apart under him, her body floating through a daze it’s fast and coming in waves, she chokes on a gasp, tasting the sparks of heat, they’re smooth on her tongue and she’s seeing everything all at once.

“Gods,” she’s gasping, sensitive, overworked, but the Mandalorians going, his hand curved around her breast, he’s shaking and suddenly it all stops, he’s dropping from his high and the electricity of his release is explosive, wrapped in pleasure it’s blocking out everything but her, her tightness and warmth and the feeling of him buried so deep he’s unable to stop, she’s catching his moan, parted lips against his own they’re falling together, crashed to the ground with unfurling webs of pleasure.

The Mandalorians slicked with sweat and he’s tangled with her, his chest heaving he’s telling her only the way she’s made him feel.

He’s got his eyes closed and when he opens them, it’s not a dream, she’s there, tears brim her eyes and her hands trail down his shoulders. They’ve forgotten, all he hears is the sound of his heartbeat and the echos of gunfire is gone.

-

“You’ve always been there for me,” he’s saying, hours after the battle of passions and forgetting of the past. His tone is kept of the brimming emotions that had broken free of his cage, birds of flight they’re taking off, flying just from his reach. “I’m n-not enough for you.” He’s catching the air that’s not going through his lungs fast enough, lying next to her he’s unsure if this is all real, not a work of fiction. She’s got her head on his chest and his hands are sliding over her lower back, feeling the softness of her hips.

“I’ve never thought less of you,” she’s sighing, sleep digging its self into her body, she’s bruised, wrecked and exhausted; her thighs ache but it’s a good burn. She turns and pressed a short kiss to the middle of his chest, pulling her arm from the warm blankets she’s trailing a slim finger up and down his skin, tracing a slashed scar.

“Stay with me.” She looks at him, it’s still dark but the suns nearly about to rise, it’s golden rays peeking over the mountains outside the city. “Please?”

The Mandalorians hand comes up to smooth her hair from her face, running over the top of her head he’s watching her lean into his touch, angelic, perfect. “You know my chosen path,” he’s tearing him apart, he’s drowning. “I made a vow, long before …”

“Before me,” she’s got a distant look in her eyes. It’s okay. It’s okay. She’s too weary, too beaten down with emotions she’s not used to feeling, she sinks into the bed beside the Mandalorian and allows him to curl around her, hold her for the last few moments before sleep takes her.

-

She wakes alone the in bed. The sun high in the sky, her room is filled with a golden yellow glow and her skins warm against the sheets. Sitting up she’s looking for the Mandalorian, he’s not beside her and she’s cursing herself for drifting off to sleep.

He’s got to be here.

Dressed in her wrinkled oversized covering from the night before, she pads into the open flat, flooded with light she looks around and realizes she’s all alone.

—

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is much appreciated!


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